Irreproachable
by Lucipherous
Summary: The sweetest downfall, the last bloom of summer, the weight of obtained and lost love. "Pourquoi ça me fait peur." Drabble series, Sakura couples.
1. Any Other Way

**Wow**, hi, it has been a while. I wanted to post something just to let you all know that I'm still here, and that the new chapter of Somewhere will be published very, very soon (as in by the end of the month at the LATEST). This drabble series is only to hold you over, and also for me to get some of my lurking plot bunnies off of my drawing table, if you will. Most of these stories will be Sakura couples, and will hopefully have a little something for everyone. I will try and do maybe one or two every other week, but for the next few days I will be posting them. Enjoy!

P.S. A warning, I do not proofread these and analyze them nearly as well as I do my usual stories, so if there are any major mistakes or criticisms, please let me know!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I promise that it's on my Christmas list.

* * *

_What is the best feeling in the entire world?_

The slip of paper crinkled softly in her hand as she slid it against the wood of the window sill, backing up against the warmth of the trim and tapping her fingers in the moonlight. "The best in the world," she remarked quietly. Leave it to Sai to ask the most simple, yet complex questions.

This game had gone on for awhile now; Sai had left her a note by her window following their first and last kiss - a rather embarrassing, yet pleasant memory for Sakura. Scrawled in neat font, the folded document stated a question she thought would forever remain silent between two unsure people. _I feel as if that act was empty, lacking. Don't you? _Little messages quickly became the foundation of their bond. Small questions. Small answers. A world full of both.

_What is the best feeling in the entire world?_

Love was her immediate response. She chuckled quietly as she muddled over her reaction, the teeth of her comb tickling the top of her wet scalp. Love was a mystery to her.

Glancing towards the moon, she disregarded the note at her feet, instead focusing her eyes on the slopes of craters that lay on the glowing planetoid. Only a sliver of it was visible - she recognized it as a waning crescent - which settled oddly in her mind; it seemed as if the moon was full every time she took a moment to look up.

_Familiarity, _she pondered, _associating one thing with another. _Images of late night shopping with Ino, the tinkling of her friend's laughter along with the chime of a door opening, the moon and stars stretching over their heads. Returning from war with Shikamaru, the face of a sick child tucked above her breast and the dark mumbles of her partner to comfort her, reminding her to just watch the sky and they'd be home before she realized it. The moonlight laced in her reflection as she rested by a river remembering the fading back of Sasuke, thinking of all the things she should have said.

Sakura's eyelids drooped in a sullen sort of way, eyes dull as she turned her gaze to the invisible side of the moon. So maybe not familiarity, that wasn't the best feeling. After all, it was exciting to discover new things sometimes. Absently she began to pet a lock of her hair, which she still kept long enough only to brush her shoulders. The strand passing through the pale of her fingers, she dimly wondered about light. _Feeling light, maybe,_ her eyes shifted towards the more illuminated part of the sky, as if trying to find the answer in the curve of the moon.

_Light, _she attempted to make a connection to her mind, instead only vaguely hearing a voice on the edge of her conscious.

"'_I have long since closed my eyes,'" Gaara's dusty fingers rubbing the grime from his cheek, blood dripping from the spaces between his teeth as he recited to her Sasuke's earlier words, "'my only goal is in the darkness.'" He stood with tired grace and patted her shoulder lightly, turning only so that she spotted the sympathetic look he sent her way as he strolled towards a beckoning medic. The stench of tears on her accompanied the scent of war for the rest of that week. She cried until she felt numb, or at least until she was forced to fight._

Unconsciously, she supposed, her eyes drifted towards a picture of Team 7, the glare on the glass too harsh for her to make out anything aside from Naruto's frowning face. Sakura presumed it was not unusual to desire a paler, more stoic expression to be exposed to her thoughtful stare, though it was probably for the better that it was not, else the ache strolling lazily through her heart would become much more prominent.

She stood, deciding it'd be more productive to prepare for bed. The treaty between villages was still processing, meaning Tsunade could require her assistance at any moment. The life of a kunoichi did not include reminiscing in the moonlight.

_This is war._

As she strode over and shut the window, the rush of air thrusting the slip of paper out into the night, she swore to herself that she meant the raging battle between the Akatsuki and shinobi everywhere, not between her head and her heart.


	2. Funeral for the Mourning

This idea came to me while listening to _Blood Bank_ by Bon Iver. It's beautiful, and I suggest you all give it a listen and enrich your music taste. The insulting nickname given to her by Sasori and used by Kakuzu was inspired by Marina and the Diamonds song of the same name.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or anything connected to it, nor the songs mentioned previously.

* * *

There was no gloom that could compare to the dark enclosure of the mountain around them. Indoor shelters were popular to ensure that they were not pinned down by wandering eyes. The collective shuffling of feet echoed off of the dirt tunnels, and all of their traveling minds hummed in quiet obedience. All of them were aware of the Konoha scouts slinking through the trees, often being tailed by a Suna or Kumo nin whom trailed behind their superior's back, licking their minor wounds and avoiding the line of fire. The possibility of exposure was heightened, but so were their senses. The dire tunnels under the rocky surface of the mountain rattled with the movement of bodies draped in red and black, and the accumulated impact caused dust to fall from the ceilings. Line leaders of traveling groups held pure chakras in their hands to illuminate their paths, which were vaguely outlined in the darkness. A pair of feminine, bright eyes lulled at the crunch of a sandal over what was likely a sprouting nightflower, and she thought that its death seemed fitting.

Twinkling and blank, her eyes followed the noise, searching for the feet and the body they clung to. The action instantly dizzied her, and she tipped her eyes back to the ground, lifting her hand to wipe away the sight of crimson clouds floating in circles around her. She ruffled her own cloak and placed a pair of dainty hands on her elbows. Huddling closer to the companion on her right, not minding that she wasn't sure of their identity, she marched on.

Occasionally silt would slip onto the sole of her sandals and she wiggled them against the soft chill. A wispy smile graced her lips until she realized it had slipped her mind to paint her toes before the ceremony, and with that thought she grimaced in shame.

The looming body she'd huddled to tenderly took her arm into his hand - the musk of the body had hinted her to the gender, aside from the shrinking effect their massive height had on her - and she couldn't decide if her lungs actually shivered over if she'd imagined it. She took a moment to glance up, and then found herself quietly wishing for Kisame, knowing that his admiration was more brotherly. If any of her boys were to playfully graze her chin or fiddle with her hands she thought she might burst. Being the center of attention, surrounded by wild, untamed nukenin whose morals dripped with blood, she was often frazzled without their addictive warmth. It had unintentionally become a habit, flocking to Deidara or Zetsu when desperate for comfort, either being frightened out of her wits or broken with the desire to return home. They'd never been cruel to her. Even in the beginning the worst emotion they portrayed was annoyance, and more often than not they were simply apathetic. She assumed that Pein ordered them all to keep their hands off of her, and she was terrified after his death that the torture would begin. With time nothing changed, and so she contemplated the idea that Madara had ordered them to obey their previous ruler, and after that conclusion she thought it best to refrain from thinking on it too much.

Then one afternoon she'd been ready to round the corner to launder her small amount of clothes when she heard Hidan loudly speaking to another Akatsuki member - still now she could not detect who it was - and mentioning that he and the other members were finding it hard to not succumb to her innocent charm. Perhaps the action should have scared her, but she had seen it as the perfect opportunity for escape. Using this advantage, she'd taken the initiative to get close enough to one of the members to convince them to let her free, figuring their loyalty would wain with the death of Pain and the "innocent charm" she apparently possessed. This plan, however, failed with time.

She had underestimated the allure of their quiet caves, and even though the dark environment did nothing to help her bloom, it did not suffocate her. These powerful men, strolling around with the strength of a thousand bulls and wills of titanium, they had captivated her. When she lay in she bed she'd often imagined that the dirt on the ground taunted her, telling her that she was unwanted. She couldn't remember how long it'd been since she'd seen the familiar face of a Leaf ninja. Her madness had driven her up the wall, and she now hung upside from the ceiling, strung up with self-made insanity.

There was a huff of breath that signaled she should listen, and instinctively she tilted her ear up towards her partner's face. He called her name, "Sakura," breezy and solemn. The shock that he'd _used her name_ spread through the hollow part of her knees, and it dawned on her that his arm around her's might have held a purpose. A small spike of chakra told him that she'd heard him, and with impatience he all but through her against his side, forcing her to stand strong. She took long, heavy blinks so that she would miss the looks sent her way. In an attempt to appear that she'd only had a momental lapse in grace, Sakura stole her arm from the enclosure of her partner's, only to be cut off by a harsh grip on her waist, which caused another grimace to paint her face. She used her free hand to pinch at her captor's, and a hiss spilled into her inner ear as a response. A warning. "No need to throw a fucking fit," he rasped, "we're just trying to stay safe," relief started to settle in as her released her waist, only for fear to return as his hand tangled in her overgrown pink locks to grip carefully at the back of her neck.

"Stop, you're hurting me," Sakura found herself whimpering and pushing her neck into his hand to relieve some of the pressure, and her Inner practically spluttered with anger at the sound of her own whining, "You're not supposed to hurt me."

He snickered cruelly and shook his hand through her hair before slipping his arm through hers, as if escorting her towards their destination like a gentleman. "This whole thing is for you anyways," his quiet chuckle was joined by rage filtering through her eyes, "so you better perk up, Bubblegum Bitch." _Oh. _The anger that began flooding her system evaporated. _That's Kakuzu. _ No wonder when she'd glanced up none of the surround chakra had bounded off of his eyes to hint at his person. Realizing that her lack of reaction made her self-disgust increase, she wrenched away from him in defiance as if she'd been burned. Sakura was sure that the action upset him, but Kakuzu had never been one of her boys. He was one of few on the Akatsuki base that avoided her wide, interested gaze and her gentle touch. She had no power over him, and she berated herself for not noticing his mildly disgusted chakra signature earlier. Remembering the use of her nickname, Sakura bit back her tears and began to flee through the crowded tunnel, knowing that if she got far enough ahead Kakuzu would let her go, and again she hoped to run into a more comforting face.

The nickname, created as a derogatory insult after an episode of tears near the beginning of her capture, reminded her of everything she wanted to forget, especially on this day. The sorrow that had been washed away with bitter coffee and the delicate words of Zetsu were flooding back, and her feet urged her that she must run to survive the heartbreak. Patching together a look of quieted despair, she allowed herself to rush the walk to what she assumed would be the light at the end of the tunnel. In all honestly she wasn't sure where she was going, but she supposed that these people, whether they were prisoners or friends of the fallen, knew where they were going better than she.

Kicking up a cloud of dirt, she opened her eyes widely and tried to catch a glimpse of the dust. She wanted to be caked in it, to roll around in the mud, to gallop out into the light and watch the sun bounce off of the rich chestnut color. She wanted it to fill her eyes and pretend that she was looking into the shining eyes of her most childish boy, her most precious boy. Instead of her hair running down her back she wished for his careful hand, and instead of dirt in between her toes she wished for the caresses of his feet. Her eyes ached as she watched the backs of the people in front of her and pretended that focus would help keep the tears at bay.

She willed herself to move faster but more carefully, picking her way through the crowd instead of haphazardly darting in and out of grouped peoples. After a while of sorting through dark cloaks, occasionally catching the flash of red clouds, she found an open lane of traffic on the side of the tunnel farthest to the right. It hadn't occurred to her until she came to a fork in the tunnel that all of these people might not be attending the ceremony, and even in the bleak darkness she saw the huddled clot of dark bodies turning left, looking closer to notice the bright light of day at the end of the short detour. With the death of life Sakura's sense of time had died as well, and her stomach rolled as she looked even deeper and saw the green of the plants, all bright in the light of the sun, which leaked through the glass enclosure surrounding the only outside space that ninja - captured or willing - were allowed. Nearly the entire crowd flocking through the tunnels were turning opposite of Sakura's destination; they were turning their back on his poor death, unknowing or uncaring.

She couldn't decipher the heavy drop of her breathing, but supposed that she'd been struck with the ache of guilt. She was sure that if he were here now, alive and beside her, he would tell her that she couldn't hope to force these people to attend an event that did not matter to them. The image of him telling her to pass them by, to ignore the fact that their hearts were not struck with grief like hers, asked her for more power than she currently wielded. Her knees buckled at the thought of striding away, and she absently wondered what she must look like, staring at the bustling bodies of her fellow prisoners in the damp darkness. The thought that she might miss the beginning of the ceremony passed through her mind, but it created no staunch encouragement. The flicker of shadowed bodies against the lightened end of the tunnel blurred as her vision unfocused, and she strained her ears as if trying to catch the whisper of a far away bird's chirping.

A warm tear slipped across her cheek and she thought to let it pass, but her tongue darted out on its own accord. She turned away from the oblivious to keep from blubbering and soaking the collar of her cloak, and as she took her first step it felt like she'd shoved a spike into her own chest, and in a panic she ran her hands across her torso to assure herself that no one had ambushed her. She shivered, though after a moment she couldn't decide if it was an unconscious attempt to shake the sorrow creeping up her throat or if she'd just been chilled from the imagined pain. She should go. She nodded to no one but herself, but even with physical affirmation there remained an apprehension to walk on. The end of the tunnel only held the source of the darkness.

It was easy to imagine the scene: Kisame, probably flanked by a bored Itachi, both laying their backs against the wall of the entrance waiting for her, either talking idly with one another or staring at a quiet Deidara, whom probably perched himself near the coffin at the front of the room. There would be no flowers, simply because no one had been able to salvage any in the outside garden and no one was willing to go on a raid for them. There were probably a dozen or so candles hung about the room so no one would have to grieve whilst wielding chakra, as if it would be that much of a bother. She wondered if Zetsu had been permitted by Madara to attend or if the leader hadn't deemed it important enough to skip out on a good chance to spy on the enemy. If he was there his presence would not be imposing, and ultimately he'd be waiting for her arrival as well. She swallowed a small amount of bile as she played with the idea that all of them were simply here for her, and under different circumstances, those in which she was not involved, their attendance would not be needed. The funeral was not truly for him. As Kakuzu had said, the ceremony was Sakura's way to say goodbye, not the Akatsuki's.

Sakura took another steely step towards the tunnel, bare of travelers and black as far as she could see. Her face melted into a determined frown as she blinked away her tears and lighted her hands with chakra. As she took her first step into the tunnel leading to the final step towards letting go, the silt of the caves falling from the platform of her sandals to their rightful place, she imagined the pursed lips of her fallen love blowing her eyelashes dry, and that the light emitting from her cupped hands was the lit candle that he'd always kept next to his bedside on a cherry wood table, and that the light was their to illuminate his face if she ever found it hard to sleep. The gradually narrowing tunnel was only the slow enveloping of his stiff arms around her frail body. She was not walking towards her dismay; she was not walking towards his final resting place. She was joining him in his bedroom, or in the kitchen for breakfast, or under the stairs for a quick kiss after his return from a mission even though it was past curfew. She rounded the curve of the tunnel and saw the opening that surely was the funeral room, and she could barely make out the light of the candles that she knew were there. Throwing her head back, inhaling deeply and pretending that she smelled the sandalwood scent of his body and not the rust of blood, she stole a long look at the ceiling. Stretching her arm out to drag her finger through the soft dirt of the wall, Sakura giggled to herself with sudden mirth, and smiled tenderly as the sound bounced off of the walls. Sasori always smiled when she laughed, and even now in his eternal sleep she hoped that he could hear her coming to him, content and ready to join him.

* * *

It felt wrong to add anything else. Reviews would be great! I'll try and have another (shorter) drabble posted tomorrow. I'm feeling Sasuke/Sakura.


	3. The Flood

A warning: this chapter is a little smutty. Felt like writing something a little raunchy, and this is just that. Short and sour. Hope you're all enjoying your week.

* * *

The rising smoke coasted blue and hazy under the point of his nose. The onyx of his eyes glazed in response to the sting, the stench of it wafting through his eyelashes. He flicked the cigarette with the edge of his tongue and gazed down, lazy and unforgiving, opening his mouth for the vapor to pour out like a tide. His compassion faded in and out with the embers of his cigarette: ardent and zealous and fire, then wilting to ash with the calm stream of the wind.

The bare skin of Sakura's breast brushed against his side, and her slender hands tinkered with the faint hairs along his navel. The nick of her nails against his pale skin had unnerved him, but her breath blew bouts of cool air against his heated skin. The newly-lit cigarette calmed him and soothed his legs against the biting chill of air floating through the open window, but his hips and thighs still burned from the long touches.

Moonlight leaked through the paper sheets covering the window, the red of the Uchiha fan swelled and lightened, casting a pink shadow across their juxtaposed bodies. Shifting his gaze, Sasuke grimaced at the violet panties that contrasted the peaceful nude of her silhouette. Oblivious, Sakura kicked her lean leg to tilt her body towards his, then tucked the crevice of his knee between his legs. Her dark-haired partner rolled his eyes, sucking in a cloud only to puff it across her face. The kunoichi reared back, and Sasuke tore away from her warmth.

"What the fuck was that?" screeched Sakura, baring her teeth and tossing back her bangs in frustration. Sasuke took a last drag of his cigarette before tipping it out of the window, blinking as the glow faded in the dark. He glanced at his bed mate, frowning at the angry look she sported. The smooth skin and lean lines of her body distracted him, and he remarked, amused, that her exposed breasts erased the threat of her glare.

Sasuke threw a displeased look towards her, turning and taking long, gracious steps towards the lip of the bed. He drew his eyebrows together in dismay at the ruffled mat of pink hair atop her head, followed by the ruby glint of his eyes as the twirled.

"Sai was right," he breathed stonily, gliding his legs across the mattress to stand on his knees, hunching over Sakura, "you're ugly."

An offended gasp clapped against the walls of the bedroom before being closed off by the wet canopy of Sasuke's lips, and the wind shifted as they tumbled, relighting the cooling fire.


End file.
